


House Politics

by strawberryfinn, trespresh



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fantasy, First Time, Gen, Gryffindor!Liam, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff!Niall, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Other, Riding, Rimming, Slytherin!Harry, Slytherin!Louis, Slytherin!Zayn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s plan is to survive sixth year, become an Auror, and continue the Slytherin legacy. A bright, beautiful Hufflepuff student named Niall Horan is about to change all of that.</p><p>A Hogwarts AU story in which Harry, Zayn, and Louis are condescending, exclusive Slytherins, Liam is a courageous, gentle-hearted Gryffindor, and Niall is the oblivious new Hufflepuff transfer student. The wizarding world is about to get quite interesting indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story written with **trespresh** who is currently waiting for her AO3 invite. We do not own the One Direction boys or Harry Potter. We would be a lot richer if we did.

Harry’s been staring the boy for a good five minutes now, and he finally manages to break his gaze, afraid Louis and Zayn will pick up on it. But _Merlin,_  the boy is pretty. He looks like he’s around Harry’s age—probably also sixth year. He has milky white skin, golden spun hair that would make even the famous, legendary Draco Malfoy proud, and bright, piercing sky blue eyes. He glows with health and vibrance—completely elegant and flawless in all ways. He  _has_  to be a Slytherin.

 

Harry forces himself to look away as Louis nudges him in the side.

 

“Oi, cheer up, Haz, we’re back at school! We’ll be out of here soon; don’t worry. We’ll pass our N.E.W.T.S. this year and then you’ll get on to being an Auror,” Louis says, ocean eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

“It’s our second to last year here,” Zayn butts in, a bit mournfully, as he takes a swig of pumpkin juice. His dark, expressive eyebrows are knit in his forehead as he contemplates this tidbit of information. “Can’t really imagine life outside of these walls.” He looks around the Great Hall, brown eyes softening a bit. “It’s going to be bloody strange.”

 

Harry glances at him, and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, voice slightly unsteady. “Strange’s one way to put it.”

 

He glances up at the ceiling of the Great Hall—today’s ceiling is bright and sunshiny—all blue sky without a cloud in sight. It’s a beautiful way to start the new year, though the Slytherin in him would rather die than admit it.

 

Speaking of beautiful… he pulls his eyes back over to the blonde lad. The boy’s sitting at the transfer students table, and Harry watches, completely stricken as the blonde demolishes a pumpkin pasty and then reaches for a scone slathered in butter and jam. There’s something effortless about the way he moves, all lithe and sinewy with a ripple of muscle clothed in black robes, and Harry gulps as he stares at a speck of jam next to those pearly pick lips. The boy doesn’t seem to notice Harry’s gaze, and he keeps eating happily as he chats absently to a girl sitting next to him.

 

“Come on, mate,” Zayn orders lightly, cuffing Harry’s shoulder. The darker boy grabs his unicorn hair wand from the breakfast table and pulls Harry to his feet with his other hand. “Time for class—we don’t want to be late on our first day.”

+

Their first class—unfortunately—is Care of Magical Creatures with that hairy, half-giant oaf Hagrid.

 

“Goddam, we have to take care of those monsters,” moans Louis miserably as they stalk towards Hagrid’s hut. “Wonder if the overgrown lug has trimmed down at all.” He runs a hand through his cinnamon waves of hair. “And we have class with the bloody  _Hufflepuffs_ ,” he wails dramatically, pointing at the group of students dressed in black and yellow robes in front of him. “The  _horror_.”

 

Harry grins at him while Zayn scowls in his consistently broody way.

 

“They probably put us with the Hufflepuffs so that there would be something to balance out the stupidity,” Harry puts in, gratified when Louis cackles with laughter and even Zayn cracks a smile. It’s common knowledge among the Slytherins—make that all the classes, actually—that the Hufflepuffs are bloody idiots.

 

The three young wizards make their way over to Hagrid’s hut, where, much to Louis’s dismay (or delight?), the half-breed giant hasn’t lost any weight. He’s as enormous as ever, beard wild and scruffy, and Harry can’t help but feel a bit intimidated even though all the Slytherins know Hagrid’s a right idiot.

 

“Alright!” Hagrid booms, spreading his arms wide, bushy eyebrows moving up and down like caterpillars. “Welcome back ter Hogwarts, sixth years! Good to have all of you in Care of Magical Creatures.”

 

Hagrid goes on babbling and blustering in his horrible pronunciation. It’s almost like he’s speaking in some half-assed language Harry can’t really understand, and he feels himself drift off. His eyes study the grass and the mud around Hagrid’s hut, and his gaze finally trails up and lands on him. It’s the boy Harry saw at breakfast—the boy with his white-blonde hair and smooth skin, and well… Harry’s found something to occupy himself with while Hagrid prattles on.

 

He’s so busy staring at the boy that he’s startled when Zayn punches him in the shoulder.

 

“Hey, Hazza, I’m with Lou on this one. Good luck,” Zayns sniggers as he loops an arm possessively around Louis, and Harry, suddenly overwhelmed with alarm, thinks  _what?_  What’s the assignment? What’s he doing? What’s going on?

 

He whirls around, wildly desperate for a partner, but it seems as though all of the Slytherins already have partners. And bloody  _hell,_  this means he might have to work with… God-forbid, a  _Hufflepuff._

 

“’Ey!” comes Hagrid’s voice. His big, meaty arm is clasped over the blonde stranger’s small shoulders, and he looks around. Hagrid clears his throat and nearly bellows, “Anybody without a partner? This is Niall Horan here—he’s new here, so let’s make him feel welcome?”

 

Harry glances around, but it seems as though the Slytherins have already formed groups, so he has no choice but to step forward. “I don’t have a partner.”

 

“Great!” Hagrid beams at him, and Harry scowls. If Hagrid minds, he doesn’t say anything.

 

“Niall, this is Harry,” Hagrid says, pushing Niall forward. Niall seems relieved to be out of Hagrid’s grasp, and he takes a few steps towards Harry, shuffling his feet, eyes on the ground.

 

“You wanna be partners, then?” the boy asks, and his voice is rich and full and orotund. There’s an unmistakably Irish accent, and Harry feels butterflies fill his stomach. He tries to convince himself it’s because he ate too many pancakes for breakfast, and that the anxiety has nothing to do with the fact that he’s spend the last three minutes or so ogling the blonde to near death.

 

“Sure,” he offers, and the boy’s face lights up as though Harry has just offered him an unlimited supply of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans.

 

“So,” Harry mutters to the new boy. “I’m Harry.” Niall Horan, he reminds himself. Hagrid said his name wasNiall.

 

“Nice to meet you, Harry!” chirps the blonde way too enthusiastically. “I’m Niall!”

 

 _I know,_  Harry almost says, but he figures that would be creepy, so instead he just shakes the new kid’s hand.

 

“So…” Harry trails off conversationally, trying not to stare at the blonde’s wiry body, which he can see hints of even Niall’s dark black robes. It seems as though Niall hasn’t gotten his house crest yet, and Harry can’t deny how nice it will be to see Slytherin’s green and silver decorating Niall’s clothes. “I have to admit… I kind of zoned out. What are we doing?”

 

“We’re de-gnoming the garden,” Niall tells him, cocking his head. “Professor Hagrid wants us to keep them in small cages though,” he holds up a wire box, and Harry can’t help his groan. He hates gnomes—they’re stupid, annoying, cheeky little buggers.

 

“Why are we keeping them?” Harry asks. He’s used to chucking gnomes far out into the distance, celebrating when they hit trees or other objects.

 

“I dunno,” shrugs Niall. He starts towards a bush, and Harry has no choice but to follow him. Niall grabs a small, fingerling potato sized gnome, and shakes it expertly.

 

“Gerroff me!” squalls the gnome. Niall ignores it, and swings it around until it’s dizzy, before chucking it into the metal cage. Harry tries to look away from Niall’s slender fingers, and he swallows hard.

 

“So, Niall,” Harry starts uncertainly, as he fetches a gnome that’s gnawing on a rose. “Are you… new here?”

 

“Yup!” Niall answers, and he sounds too happy for a bloke who is being forced into Gnome Control in the Care of Magical Creatures a.k.a. the worst class ever created at Hogwarts (except perhaps Divination with that crackpot Trelawney), but Harry doesn’t mind. “I transferred in from Durmstrang—I’m a sixth year.”

 

“Oh, you’re in my year!” Harry grins easily, feeling encouraged by Niall’s positive answers. “Durmstrang, eh? Why’d you leave?”

 

Granted, Harry understands Hogwarts is a much more inviting and friendlier environment than Durmstrang. Harry’s cousin Aiden goes to Durmstrang and he hates it. But Durmstrang is in Norway and there’s no mistaking Niall’s accent as Irish, so he wonders slightly why Niall even went to Durmstrang to begin with.

 

Niall frowns slightly at the question, and Harry wonders if he’s delved a little too much into Niall’s privacy.

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Harry backpedals quickly, not liking the sadness that rests in Niall’s eyes.

 

“N-no… it’s not a big deal,” Niall sniffs. He throws another gnome into the cage, and then Harry notices that he’s gripping his hands in fists so hard his knuckles are nearly white. “Umm… well you see, my parents had a great legacy at Durmstrang—both of them were big-shots, so it only made sense for me to go to Durmstrang. My brother Greg was Quidditch captain and… it just was a family thing.” Niall twists his hands nervously, and Harry glances down at his phoenix feather wand, afraid that Niall might snap it with how much pressure he’s applying.

 

“Err… so, I started at Durmstrang and I hated it from the first year. It’s awfully cold and all of our robes are blood red and we don’t have houses or anything… and the boys didn’t like me much because I was too small and too blonde and too… happy or something. Everybody there’s kind of cold, I guess,” Niall’s voice continues, his voice breaking slightly. “And so I finally got tired of being hexed in the hallway and locked out of my dorm. Um…” he sounds a bit weak and weary now, and Harry feels something twinge deep inside of him at the sadness in Niall’s voice.

 

“This past year—my fifth year that is,” Niall pauses for a moment, swallowing hard, “it just… got to a point that was unbearable. I got caught snogging a bloke, you see, and uh… well things weren’t so good because the lads at Durmstrang aren’t very forgiving about… er… yeah. So I just Owled Headmaster McGonagall at the beginning of this summer and managed to convince my parents to let me transfer to Hogwarts. So… er… here I am.” He stares at Harry with his unnerving blue eyes, shifting uncertainly. “Merlin, you must think I’m bloody pathetic.”

 

Harry’s smile falters at Niall’s hard story. “I’m sorry, mate, that sucks,” is all Harry can manage. His mind races, and he decides the best tactic is to try and change the subject. “Erm… well, how do you like it here so far?”

 

“Well everyone’s been really nice,” Niall says, the characteristic smile suddenly unfolding on his face again. He grins ruefully at Harry, and then continues, “And you know, the blokes here aren’t bad either.” He winks mischievously at Harry, and Harry feels something flip in his stomach.

 

He also thinks this kid might be committing social suicide.

 

Nobody in Harry’s year is… openly  _gay_  you’d say, except for that idiot Gryffindor Head Boy Liam Payne who is proud and open about his sexual preferences. (Some people say it’s because it’s that Gryffindor courage and bravery… Harry knows it’s just Liam’s Gryffindor  _stupidity_ ). And sure… Harry’s hooked up with a bloke or so, but it’s not like he’s not interested in boobs and birds—because both of those are pretty great.Slytherins don’t put labels on themselves about sexuality for the most part. With Slytherins, it’s all about convenience rather than definitions, Harry figures.

 

But then again, Slytherins can say whatever the hell they want and always be at the top of the Hogwarts hierarchy anyways.

 

“Oh,” Harry replies curiously, heart pounding because Merlin, there’s no denying Niall is  _stunning,_  “any that have caught your eye?”

 

“I don’t know,” Niall answers coyly. He swings another gnome into the cage with ease. “I tend to fancy brunettes with curly hair and impossibly green eyes. Do you know any?”

 

His offhand comment sends sparks flying through Harry’s mind. He searches his brain for a composed reply when it’s all he can do to stop himself from stuttering like an idiotic Hufflepuff.

 

“Oh, I’ll say there are a few options,” Harry finally manages, “I hear there’s one bloke named Harry Styles who’s bloody fantastic in bed.”

 

“I guess I’ll just have to be the judge of that,” Niall replies, not missing a beat, his voice unfairly cool. “Let me know if this Harry’s interested, yeah?”

 

“Word on the street is that he is,” Harry answers, finally matching Niall’s quick thinking and wit. He sees a pink flush slowly make its way across Niall’s cheeks, under his light dust of freckles, and he thinks finally.

+

By the end of the class, Harry’s grinning like an idiot in a very uncomposed, un-Slytherin manner. He doesn’t care though. Niall is definitely into him, and this year is going to be a lot better than he expected. He runs his hand through his curls of brown hair and ambles over towards his best mates.

 

Louis looks at him crossly. “What’s got you in such a good mood, Harry?” He’s rubbing his fingers from where they’ve evidently been bitten and chomped on by gnomes.

 

“Oh Lou’s just being an emotional bitch,” Zayn sing-songs, hitting Louis in the head playfully. Louis howls indignantly, and Zayn ignores him. “Cheer up, Tomlinson. We have Potions after this.”

 

“Oh joy,” drawls Louis sarcastically, but he sounds a bit happier at the prospect of going to a class where most of the things they work with aren’t alive and capable of biting.

 

Niall jumps past them, and Harry’s pretty sure the blonde bumps Harry’s shoulder deliberately. When Harry glances up, he catches the Niall’s startling blue eyes, and Niall  _winks._

 

Harry feels something flip in his stomach, and he smiles easily back. Niall salutes him and heads off, bounding towards the castle. Harry watches the blonde trail off, a goofy grin unraveled on his face like Christmas has come early.

 

Zayn looks over at Harry with a slight frown. “Why are you staring at that Hufflepuff boy, Haz?”

 

All of Harry’s day dreams come crashing to a screeching halt. “What?”

 

“That’s Niall Horan—he just transferred in, and he’s a  _Hufflepuff_ ,” spits Louis disgustedly as though he’s talking about a blast-ended skrewt rather than a boy. “Bloody nuts that one is.”

 

“Yeah, had to change schools because he’s a freaking fairy,” Zayn supplies, elaborating, “he’s a poof. AHufflepoof.” The way Zayn says this makes it sound as though Niall’s an earwax flavoured Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Bean.

 

Harry feels his smile slide off of his face. Niall’s a Hufflepuff? Well he definitely didn’t see that coming.


	2. Chapter One

Harry spends the rest of his first day back at Hogwarts trying to erase any figment or memory of Niall Horan and his dumb blue eyes and his stupid Irish accent from his mind. He can’t believe he nearly let himself slip up like that. Niall is a _Hufflepuff._ Harry can’t believe it… first, the fact that Hufflepuffs can actually be attractive, and second, that he’s _finding_ a Hufflepuff attractive.

 

He may as well throw himself headfirst into the lake and have the Giant Squid have its way with him because obviously he’s bringing shame upon the Slytherin House.

 

 

During Potions, he forces himself to believe that he’s not actually comparing the color of the mermaid scales to the light blue shade of Niall’s eyes. Disgusted with himself, he throws the scales into his cauldron, and to his dismay, the fumes smoke out in golden wisps—and he pretends he doesn’t think of Niall’s hair.

 

 

Zayn points out that the smoke should be neon pink, so Harry’s pretty sure he fails the first day of potions. That idiot Gryffindor Liam Payne laughs his ass off until Louis furtively casts a spell at him under the table that makes Liam’s legs wobble like jelly. At that point, all the Slytherins are busy roaring with laughter at Head Boy Liam, rolling around on the floor with unstable legs, and the Gryffindors are too busy fussing over Liam to focus on Harry’s dismal failure.

 

 

So by the time Harry’s back in the safety of the Slytherin common room, in the comfort of his green and silver decked four-poster bed under the poster of his favorite Quidditch team, almost all thoughts of a blonde boy with stunningly blue eyes have about vanished.

 

 

But then the owl comes. There’s a hoot at Harry’s window, and a beautiful, snowy-white owl with dappled grey feathers bursts in, dropping a letter into Harry’s comforter.

 

 

Harry takes the parchment, unfurling it with trembling hands, to unravel loopy script, scratched eagerly with jet black ink.

 

 

_Hi Harry,  
This is Niall. Well, my owl’s name is Paul (isn’t he pretty?), but anyway, just wanted to thank you for being so nice to me today. You’re the first person who reached out to me at Hogwarts even though a lot of chaps have been pretty nice to me so far—I guess that’s easy coming from Durmstrang. Well you’re the first person I’ve liked… Anyway, can’t wait to see you more in Care of Magical Creatures and maybe I’ll see you around?  
This might be kind of forward of me, but I’m kind of an impulsive person which my mam says is a bad thing and I don’t know what I think so let me know if I’m being too pushy. I don’t know if you were paying attention today, but Hagrid said we have a group project for the class, and I was wondering if you’d mind being my partner. I don’t really know anyone else, and I thought we could get to know each other better.  
Also I’ve heard about some place called Hogsmeade and I was wondering if you’d want to go get a pint of butterbeer with me? Anyways, don’t feel like you have to say yes to either… like you can say no if you want and oh no, shit, now I’m rambling. Sorry.  
-Niall x_

 

 

Harry blinks, eyes scanning through the paper, focusing on the _x_ after Niall’s name. God, maybe he’s reading into this too much, but Niall’s probably interested… in more than a platonic relationship. Okay, maybe the flirting in class should have tipped him off, but he’s never met someone as impulsive as Niall. Make that a _boy_ as impulsive as Niall.

 

 

Slytherins tend to proposition each other. Harry’s been asked for a quick fuck or some much-needed relief before, and depending on his mood, he’ll comply or he won’t. That’s the way Slytherins maneuver their way through Hogwarts—they don’t waste their time muddling with messy things like emotion and compassion and feelings. Sex is quick and easy to come by in the Slytherin house, and Harry’s wondering how he missed Niall’s sensitivity before.

 

 

He grabs his quill and a clean piece of parchment, chewing on the edge of the feather as he thinks about what to write. Finally, he decides on,

 

 

_Hey Niall,  
No problem. See you in class. Good to hear you like Hogwarts so far. I’ll get back to you on the group project.  
-Harry_

 

 

He studies his reply, hoping that it sounds straightforward—not too cold, but not friendly either. Because he and Niall can’t be friends. The boy’s not bad at all, but he’s a _Hufflepuff._

 

 

Harry sends the owl—Paul—on its way with his reply clasped tightly in its talons, and rereads Niall’s letter about five more times.

 

 

Needless to say Harry doesn’t sleep at all that night.

\------x--------

By the next morning, though, Harry’s managed to convince himself that the butterflies in his stomach are just a fluke. He wakes up, and stumbles out of bed, feeling particularly Slytherin-like as he preens at his flawless reflection in the mirror, because thank Merlin, things are going to go back to normal.

 

 

At least that’s what he thinks until a certain blonde Hufflepuff slides onto the Slytherin dining table across from him at breakfast. Niall’s head practically pops up over the mountain of cranberry-orange scones and jam-slathered toast. Harry spits out the mouthful of juice he has in his mouth.

 

 

“Hi Harry!” chirps Niall, and Harry is pretty sure that every single Slytherin and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—just make that the whole school—is looking at them.

 

 

“What are you doing here?” Harry basically hisses, coughing hoarsely as he tries to clear his throat, and Niall’s eyes widen in confusion.

 

 

“Eating breakfast?” he says uncertainly, looking around in a way that Harry does _not_ find endearing at all, thank you very much.

 

 

“Hey, Hufflepoof!” Comes a familiar voice, with a clipped coolness. Harry cringes as Zayn almost spits on Niall, his voice condescending and bitter. “Go back to your own table of losers, why don’t you?”

 

 

“What?” Niall asks, sounding absolutely bewildered, and Harry squashes the spike of pity that runs momentarily through his chest. Because pursuing anything but perhaps a civil relationship not going to do him or Niall any good. “What did you call me?” His lip wobbles, and Harry thinks with horror that Niall might _cry._

 

 

“This is the Slytherin table.” Louis’s voice is cruel and disbelieving. “You’re not wanted here, _fairy._ ”

 

 

Niall flinches at Louis’s tone. Harry wills for Niall not to look at him, but luck’s not on his side.

 

 

“Harry?” Niall asks, robin’s egg blue eyes landing on him. “Harry… we’re alright, aren’t we? Is it okay if I eat here?”

 

 

“Erm,” Harry starts, and he can basically feel the entire school staring at him, waiting for his answer. He pauses for a little too long, and Louis jabs him sharply in the side. “No, Horan, get out of here. Go over to sit with your own kind.”

 

 

The words feel wrong and unnecessarily spiteful in his mouth, but what can he do? It’s better to let Niall know the way things are at Hogwarts now rather than let him find out by himself. He should know the rules—he’s at Hogwarts now anyways. It’s not Durmstrang.

 

It’s better like this.

 

Right?

 

 

It’s better like this.

 

 

At least that’s what Harry tries to convince himself as he watches the blonde’s shoulders slump dejectedly as he walks over to the Hufflepuff table.

 

 

Harry tries to make himself believe that he’s not disappointed in the slightest when Niall doesn’t turn around to look at him.

\-----x-----

Harry fights the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment again when in Care of Magical Creatures, he glances over to watch Niall pair up with Josh Devine, a fellow Hufflepuff. He tries to pretend he’s not staring when Devine says something that makes Niall laugh, a thick chortle that breaks through his throat, rich and full.

 

 

Stupid Josh Devine. Harry wants to punch him. Mainly—make that only—because he’s a Hufflepuff, of course. Harry’s strong desire to punch Josh has nothing to do with jealousy over him spending time with Niall. At all.

 

 

That’s why he’s confused when he feels that slip of uncertainty and sadness when Niall keeps his gaze steadily away from Harry’s the entire class.

 

 

Niall’s ignoring him now?

 

 

Well two can play this game as far as Harry’s concerned.

\-----x-----

This game sucks.

 

 

Harry hates this game. It’s the worst game he’s ever played.

 

 

It’s been three days and Niall’s ignored him in class all week. He’s looked the other way from Harry’s attempts at grabbing his attention, and he pointedly hasn’t returned Harry’s (slightly creepy, he’ll admit) stares. In Defense Against the Dark Arts on Tuesday, he even had the audacity to toss the note that Harry’d sent flying across the classroom to him into the rubbish bin without even opening it.

 

 

Harry’s sitting in the chilled Slytherin common room, playing Wizard’s Chess with Louis, while he thinks back on the week’s failed attempts at talking to Niall. Stupid, bloody Niall with his pretty blue eyes and stupid, rosy cheeks, and his blonde hair that matches the stupid yellow on his robes, and his stupid Irish accent that makes Harry stare in spite of himself. And—

 

 

Louis crushes him in their sixth game of chess before he glances up suspiciously.

 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” The other boy asks cryptically, tossing back some of his cinnamon hair, ocean eyes boring holes into Harry’s face.

 

 

“Nothing,” Harry mutters, because he certainly can’t say _I think I might fancy that Hufflepuff boy, Niall Horan._

\-----x-----

It’s Friday in Care of Magical Creatures before Niall talks to him again. Harry’s sitting in the grass, waiting for class to start and sending sulky glares over at Louis and Zayn where they’re paired off to the side. He lets his mind wander to tomorrow’s Quidditch game (it’s against the Hufflepuffs, so essentially, it’s already a Slytherin win… especially because Harry’s a phenomenal Chaser, if anyone were to ask) just as a body drops down next to his.

 

 

“’Lo, Harry.”

 

 

He startles and looks over to see Niall smiling softly at him, and if his eyes bug out of his head in surprise, Niall’s tactful enough to not mention it.

 

 

“You… uh. You’re talking to me again, then?” Harry tries his best to sound bored and uninterested, but Niall only grins and looks down.

 

 

“I got sick of staying away.”

 

 

Harry most certainly does not blush, but he looks away just in case. Niall’s dangerously close to crossing a line, but Harry can’t bring himself to send the blonde away. He opens his mouth to say something biting but Niall beats him to it.

 

 

“I, um… I actually was wondering if I could ask you something?”

 

 

Harry snorts in an attempt to compose himself and assert his Slytherin side. “Sure, Horan.”

 

 

He busies himself with adjusting his rucksack over his shoulder and firmly ignores Niall’s searching gaze that he can feel burning into his face.

 

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

 

Harry jerks his head up to look at the Hufflepuff. “What?”

 

 

“Like… did I do something to piss you off? Because I thought we were getting on fine in class and then you just… did a 180 on me.” Niall blinks and then looks down at his fingers where they’re fiddling in his lap. “I just don’t get it, is all.”

 

 

Harry sighs and hates himself for forcing the last nail into the coffin. “It’s just the way it is here. Slytherins and _Hufflepuffs_ ,” he makes sure to sneer the word, “don’t associate with one another.”

 

 

Niall’s brow furrows and his jaw tightens. “That makes no sense though, Harry. Everything was fine until you found out what House I’m in. You were ready to jump on me when you thought I was a Slytherin.”

 

 

This time, Harry does blush. He scoffs. “Well… I mean, I. If you were a Slytherin, I—yeah.”

 

 

“So then why does it matter if I wear yellow instead of green?”

 

 

Christ, doesn’t this kid get it?!

 

 

Harry can’t think of anything better to say than, “It’s just how it is here. Houses matter at Hogwarts.”

 

 

Niall’s voice is still infuriatingly soft, vulnerable. Open. “Maybe to you. All I know is that I like you. Or… I thought I did.”

 

 

“Don’t be fucking queer, Horan,” Harry snaps without thinking. As soon as the words are out, he wishes he could take them back.

 

 

Niall’s calm demeanor drains away and his eyes widen, innocent blue staring at Harry like he’s expecting Harry to beg for forgiveness. Harry forces himself to stare back blankly, because if this is what it takes for Niall to get it into his head, then so be it.

 

 

After a moment, Niall’s lips purse and his eyes drop. He smacks his book closed and Harry feels the guilt coil in his stomach.

 

 

“You know what? I tried. Fuck off, okay? I don’t need it here too,” Niall spits, his voice watery, and before Harry can say anything, the blonde grabs his wand and storms off to the castle.

\-----x-----

Harry can hear the roar of the crowd from where he sits on a bench in the Slytherin changing room, bent over to re-lace his boots. There’s a steady thrum of adrenaline building up in him, scorching through his veins like before every Quidditch match, and he tunes into the rant that the team captain—a fairly short but well-muscled Sixth-Year called Tom Daley—is off on.

 

 

“—have to stay focused. We have to start the season off right. We have to play well, and remember what we practiced, and win. We have to—”

 

 

“Oi, Daley, put a cork in it, yeah?” Grimshaw, Harry’s fellow Chaser and occasional fuck-buddy, interrupts. “We know all this, you said the exact same thing at practice yesterday.”

 

 

Daley turns his wide brown eyes on Grimshaw, annoyance obvious in his tone as he huffs, “I know, but it’s important to remember—”

 

 

“Grimmy’s right,” Harry cuts in, sharing an amused grin with the other Chaser and trying not to laugh at the exasperated look Daley’s sporting. The bloke always was too competitive for his own good. “We’re already psyched up, we don’t need any more.”

 

 

“Besides, it’s only the Hufflepuffs,” Lloyd, the team’s five-foot-two firecracker of a Seeker, adds, and there’s an appreciative titter from the entire team. She looks over at Harry with a flick of her dark brown ponytail; he matches her red-lipped, devilish smirk (internally laughing fondly because only Cher would wear lipstick while playing Quidditch) and she winks in return.

 

 

“I know it’s only the Hufflepuffs, but if you let your guard down, even  _they_ could miraculously win,” Daley sneers, getting ready to continue his pre-match rant when Madame Hooch sticks her head into the changing rooms.

 

 

“We’re ready for you,” she announces, and disappears.

 

 

The team make their way out of the room toward the field, and when Lloyd saunters past Harry, she looks up with another wink.

 

 

“Post-match fuck in the changing room showers after we win?” she simpers.

 

Harry grins mischievously. He  _loves_  being a Slytherin.

 

 

They walk out from under the stands onto the bright, fresh field to a mix of deafening screams from their fellow Slytherins, and hissing jeers from everyone else. Harry preens and sticks his chest out, basking in the attention as he walks toward the center of the field behind his teammates with his broomstick in hand.

 

 

The Hufflepuffs are already there, lined up and waiting for them with bright eyes and determined frowns. Harry watches idly as Daley roughly shakes hands with the Hufflepuff captain—a squishy, gingery bloke named Sheeran—before letting his eyes wander lazily down the Hufflepuff team, if only to assess how easy it’ll be to win. He freezes when he sees the bright head of blonde hair halfway down the team, and his chest deflates as he balks.

 

“Oi, Sheeran!” He blurts over the roar of the crowd, and both teams turn to look at him. “Got a new Beater, then?”

 

 

Grimmy laughs next to him and claps Harry on the back. Harry hadn’t meant to sound mean—he’d just been surprised—but Sheeran glares at him.

 

 

“Yeah, and a damn good one, at that. Aims dead-on, so watch your back,Styles,” the red-haired captain calls sharply.

 

 

Harry looks back to Niall, raising his eyebrows, but Niall’s determined, angry expression doesn’t change except for the narrowing of his eyes, and all that can be seen are the tiny slits of ice blue glittering in the bright sun, and even from here, Harry’s dazzled.

 

 

He hates that Niall looks slightly intimidating with that furious expression and the heavy Beaters’ bat clenched in his fist.

 

 

He stares at the blonde for a little while longer, and then Madame Hooch’s whistle blows and they kick off the ground hard.

\-----x-----

Niall’s making his way back into the Hufflepuff changing room behind his teammates, ready to congratulate himself in secret—despite the Hufflepuff loss—for the amount of times he nearly upended Harry on his broom (and for the dirty looks the Slytherin had sent him, and the multitude of vulgar words and insults Harry’d hurtled at him over the roaring wind and cheers from the crowd below) and for the successful Bludger he’d sent Harry’s way that the brunette hadn’t quite been able to duck (he’s most proud of that one), when a hand curls into the back of his Quidditch robes and hurls him back and around to a dim space tucked beneath the stands.

 

 

He considers hollering for help until he looks up into fiery, furious green eyes. He eyes the deep scratch stretching from Harry’s cheekbone down to his jaw, the purpling swell under his right eye, the slight pink of his bared teeth where the blood’s been filling his mouth, and Niall grins with mirth.

 

 

“Alright there, _Styles_?”

 

 

Harry snarls and crowds close, pushing Niall bodily against the wooden pillars of the stands and forcing his forearm flat against Niall’s collarbone, to press warningly against his throat.

 

 

“What the _fuck_ are you playing at?!”

 

 

Niall coughs a little and forces his chin up, jutting it at Harry. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

 

Harry turns his head to spit onto the ground and then leans in close enough that Niall can smell the metallic stench of blood on his breath. “You think you’re bloody funny, don’t you?”

 

 

Niall wonders if maybe he’s gone too far, causing Harry actual injury like this, and all. There’s nothing safe about the hard line of Harry’s body pressed fully against him, and there’s nobody around to hold the Slytherin’s unbridled—and quite obvious—fury back. The curly-haired boy isn’t playing around. Not anymore.

 

 

Then again, neither is Niall.

 

 

He grins wider and agrees, “Fuckin’ _hilarious_ , yeah.”

 

 

Harry’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits as he presses even harder against Niall. He hisses, “Why are you being such an asshole?” and Niall snorts in his face.

 

“You did _not_ just ask me that. You started it.”

 

 

“Oh will you come off it already? What you want, Horan…? We can’t have it; it’s  _not_ going to happen. That’s not how it works here, and the sooner you figure that out, the better.”

 

 

The blonde boy scoffs, fighting back even though his breath is coming out in wheezes from how hard Harry’s pushing against his throat. “You’re a right dick, you know that? With your precious _rules_ and fucking…fucking elitism. What the fuck’s so great about you and your Slytherins, huh? Why are you so much better than me that you can’t even stand to be _seen_ with me?”

 

 

Harry opens his mouth to heatedly bite back, but he stops short when he can’t find the answer to Niall’s question. He stares angrily back at Niall’s bright, defiant eyes, the blonde’s chest heaving against his own with the adrenaline, and—shit.

 

 

The taller boy takes a steadying step back, cutting off all contact between them. He spits more blood on the ground, and with a rueful glare at the blonde and a muttered, “fuck it,” turns to leave their secluded area under the stands.

 

 

“Really?” He hears Niall seethe in disbelief behind him. “Fucking _really_? You’re just gunna leave it like that?”

 

 

Harry turns around and squares his shoulders. “I don’t know what else you want me to say! I’ve said my bit and you’re too thick-headed to take it to heart.”

 

 

He can see something in Niall’s eyes snap, and then the blonde is stalking over to push Harry squarely in the chest. Harry stumbles back a step and looks up with a furious glare that rivals Niall’s own.

 

 

“Yeah, and you’re too narrow-minded to see anything past your stupid, made-up House politics. You’re a goddamn _child_ , and if it takes a couple Bludgers to the head for you to see that, then I’m more than happy to oblige,” Niall barks, his words barely understandable through the thick anger of his accented voice, and Harry feels the tension building and he thinks maybe he wants to hit Niall, or…or—

 

 

“You know what, fuck you. Who do you think you are, coming here all high and mighty and thinking everything’s gunna change for you because you’ve got some stupid little schoolboy _crush_!?”

 

 

Niall cackles but there’s no humor to be heard. “Don’t you dare pretend I’m the only one who feels—” he gestures between them, “—this.”

 

 

Harry looks momentarily taken aback but steps forward aggressively before he realizes what he’s doing, and pins Niall to the wall again. The smaller boy lets out another humorless laugh and tilts his head up, daring and unforgiving and mocking when he replies.

 

 

“Yeah. Thought so.”

 

 

He’s all too responsive when Harry plunges in to capture his lips, squirming under Harry’s forceful grip to get his hands free enough to slide them down the taller boy’s sides. Harry’s fingers drop to clutch bruisingly at Niall’s hips, dragging them forward into his own as he pushes his tongue past Niall’s lips.

 

 

It’s not innocent, and it’s not romantic or sweet or _careful_ the way first kisses should be. It’s hard and painful and angry with the way Niall bites at Harry’s tongue and lips, and the way Harry digs his nails into the skin of Niall’s hips just to hear the pained little whimper he emits from it. Niall’s hands snake around to cup Harry’s ass, heaving him closer so their groins slot together hard enough to make Niall’s head fall back against the wooden pillars at the feel of it. Harry eagerly takes the opportunity to bite his way down Niall’s jaw and to the crook of his pale, long neck, where he sucks and bites and tongues a bruise into the sweat-salty skin, forces heated, needy grunts from Niall’s throat, tastes them as they bubble past his lips. Niall rolls his hips in under Harry’s heavy grip, pulls him forward with the kneading hands anchored on Harry’s ass, and this time the hitched, breathy moan that fills the dimly lit spot is Harry’s, loud and unchecked until Niall pulls him back up to force their mouths together once more.

 

Harry thinks his lips are chapping and it can’t be pleasant for Niall to taste the blood in Harry’s mouth, but the Hufflepuff hasn’t complained yet and Harry’s not about to push him off. He lifts his hands from Niall’s hips up into the blonde hair and—it’s as soft as it looks, he realizes, as he threads his fingers in and tugs maybe a little bit too hard. Niall pulls him in closer and kisses Harry like he wants to crawl inside him and burrow under his skin (like he hasn’t _already_ ), and Harry’s content to let Niall nip hard at his lower lip and tuck his fingers under the curve of Harry’s ass and _pull_ because it makes Harry’s stomach flip and _holyshitohgod_ can Niall kiss.

 

 

And then there’s a particularly loud stomp from the stands above from the remains of the crowd clearing out, and Harry pulls back with a jerk. He blinks stupidly as Niall follows his lips, intent on pulling him back in, but Harry grunts and stumbles back.

 

 

Niall’s eyes open and he stays where he is, leaning back against the wood and looking unfairly debauched with his hair askew and lips swollen and slightly red with Harry’s blood. His eyes are bright and filled with something that looks like smugness laced with adoration; his tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip and Harry curses under his breath.

 

Without another word, he spins on his heel and races away from Niall, back to the Slytherin changing room. It’s empty, and for once, he’s glad that Cher was too impatient to wait for him for that ‘celebratory fuck.’

 

 

He sits on a bench and drops his head into his hands, staring hard at the floor and trying to ignore the taste of Niall in his mouth.

 

 

What the fuck did he just do?

\-----x-----

It’s Tuesday evening before Harry sees Niall again, and it’s most certainly not by choice. The Hufflepuff had sent him three different letters since Saturday (and Harry had grown more and more frustrated with each tap of the owl’s beak on his dormitory window because Niall didn’t seem to understand that Harry didn’t have anything to say to him (and what the hell kind of name is Paul for an owl anyway? Stupid, bloody Hufflepuff)), none of which Harry replied to.

 

 

He’s walking through an empty sixth-floor corridor after detouring from the library and letting his mind (and feet) wander, when heavy footsteps behind him echo through the hall.

 

 

“Harry? Harry, hey—I wanted to talk to you,” Niall calls, jogging to catch up with the Slytherin.

 

 

Harry sneers, glancing over at the panting blonde. “What could we possibly have to discuss, Horan?”

 

Niall looks taken aback for a moment, but then evenly cocks an eyebrow.

 

 

“How about other day, after the match?” He frowns as Harry glares down at him. “Under the stands?”

 

The Slytherin skids to a halt, forcing his best _shut-the-fuck-up_ glower at the Hufflepuff. “Don’t be thick. Nothing happened after the match, and _nothing_ happened under the stands,” he grits out.

 

 

Niall, for his part, just looks both confused and amused. “Yeah it did. When you kissed m-”

 

 

He’s cut off as Harry lunges forward, pressing his palm to Niall’s mouth and glancing nervously around the deserted corridor.

 

“I’m not going to say it again. Nothing. Happened,” Harry seethes, his upper lip curling in fury. “Stop making up rumors, Horan.”

 

 

“Nothing happened?” Niall bites back ferociously. “Well this implies something completely different, wouldn’t you say?” He pulls down the collar of his robe to reveal an angry red hickey nestled into the crook of his pale neck.

 

Harry freezes, gaze locked on the bruise, and he wants to kick himself because fuck all, why can’t he control himself around this kid?

 

 

His eyes flick up to meet the blonde’s and he’s frustrated to see the smugness glittering in those stupidly wide, pretty eyes.

 

 

“Oh, for fucks’ sake,” Harry spits, and he really, really hates Niall for the laugh the blonde lets out. Then, because there’s no way to salvage his dignity in the face of an overly-entertained, presumptuous Hufflepuff, he turns on his heel and stomps from the corridor.

 

“Oh, no you don’t!”

 

He hears footsteps following him and then a squeezing hand on his bicep forces him to turn around. Harry huffs into Niall’s amused face, trying to convey his best fuck-off-or-I’ll-sic-the-Dark-Lord-on-you expression but the blonde doesn’t bat an eyelash.

 

Stupid, bloody Hufflepuffs.

 

“What do you  _want_ , Horan? Honestly!” Harry snaps.

 

 

Niall’s grip on his arm loosens into a soft hold and the corner of his lip quirks up. “Well first off,” he says matter-of-factly, “I want you to stop calling me ‘Horan.’ I have a first name that I quite like.”

 

 

The Slytherin huffs in a way that is most certainly not childish, thank you very much. “I think ‘Niall’ is a _stupid_ name,” he mutters, and Niall rolls his eyes.

 

“And second off, I want you to admit that you like me.”

 

Merlin, this kid is unbelievable!

 

Harry snorts. “I like you about as much as I like being burned by Blast-Ended Skrewts. And as much as writing that four scroll paper for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or… or as much as sawing off my own toes one by one. Any of those, really, take your pick.”

 

But Niall’s grinning now, and Harry wants to smack him.

 

“I think you like me,” he giggles, taking a step closer.

 

This is about the point when Harry really begins to panic. He steps back for each of Niall’s steps forward. “I do not. You shut your mouth, Horan.”

 

“Niall,” the blonde reminds him, stepping closer still until Harry’s backed up against the wall of the deserted corridor. “I think you like my hair—” he brushes his fingers slowly through his fringe and grins when Harry’s eyes follow the movement, “—and I think you like my body—” his hands skirt into the front of his robes and Harry swallows thickly because _holy shit_ Niall’s so close now that Harry can taste his breath when he drops into a whisper, “—and I think you really, _really_ like my lips.” He pointedly licks his lips and drops his eyes to look at Harry’s and, _Slytherin be damned_ , Harry’s done for.

 

 

He growls and dips his head, making to kiss those _stupidpoutypink_ lips, but Niall pulls back quickly. Harry feels like screaming and stomping his foot in a full-on tantrum, but Niall only smiles softly.

 

“Tell me you like me,” he demands, voice low and full of temptation.

 

“No,” Harry replies unevenly, shuddering as Niall fists the front of his robes and pulls him closer.

 

“Tell me you like me,” the blonde murmurs again, trailing his lips in soft little brushes over the side of Harry’s mouth and down his stubbled jaw, gentle enough that it’s not kissing so much as _feeling_ , and Harry whimpers and pushes his chest out to feel more of Niall’s hands and leans in as close as he can and _fuck it._

 

“Houses be damned,” he breathes, “I like you.”

 

He kisses the stupidly endearing beam right off of Niall’s face.


	3. Chapter 3

_Fuck, the floor is cold,_ Harry thinks as he clambers out of bed carefully, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold marble floor of the Slytherin dorms. He glances around hesitantly, relieved to see that Zayn and Louis are still sleeping.

 

Zayn mutters something nonsensical in his sleep, shifting, burying his face into his pillow, and Harry freezes in the middle of grabbing his Invisibility Cloak. Well, technically, the starry-patterned, velvet cloak belongs to his older sister, Gemma, but as far as he’s concerned, if she couldn’t keep her eyes on it, it’s _his._

 

He’s clutching the piece of parchment in his hand—the one that Niall’s owl Paul had dropped off earlier—with the scratched words, _Midnight, meet me in the Room of Requirement._

 

Harry has to hand it to the blonde—for being a Hufflepuff, Niall’s quite daring, sneaking out at night. He shrugs on the cloak as he creeps out of the Slytherin dungeons, and heads deliberately to the Room of Requirement, making sure to tread lightly so that Filch’s bloody cat or the Bloody Baron or that twat Peeves doesn’t catch him.

 

He arrives at the Room of Requirement in record time, panting slightly to himself, and a bit embarrassed at his excitement. He stands awkwardly in front of the door before deciding on thinking, _“I require Niall Horan,”_ and pacing vigorously back and forth three times.

 

He pushes the door open, pulling the Invisibility Cloak off his head, and he’s barely stepped through when there are hands on the front of his shirt and a body shoving him up against the wall.

 

Harry’s eyes widen in shock but he eagerly responds as a tongue pushes into his mouth. He sucks on Niall’s tongue, gripping Niall’s hair and tugging it backwards so he can get a clear view of that long, pale, sinful column of a neck before he’s closing his eyes and leaning back in for more. He breaks the kiss, and he decidedly likes the way Niall _whimpers_ at the loss, as though Harry’s necessary for him to keep living.

 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Harry decides on.

 

“So you _do_ like me,” Niall says coyly, breathlessly, blue eyes sparkling even in the dark.

 

“Oh sod off,” Harry replies, scoffing sarcastically through his grin, “I said no such thing.”

 

“If you want me to shut up, you should kiss me,” Niall asserts, rutting his bony hips into Harry’s.

 

Harry doesn’t need a greater invitation than that. He pushes Niall onto the floor of the Room of Requirement, which is thankfully a plush carpet, and grinds his body into the blonde’s as he snogs the near life out of him. He cups his hands around Niall’s jaw, another one brushing the boy’s cheekbone, and Niall gasps and moans, and every touch is searing on his body, and Harry thinks he just might _lose_ it.

 

Harry loses track of the time—doesn’t know how long he stays there, just knows that he bites and sucks hickeys onto every part of Niall’s skin he can reach, mind racing with the thrill that Niall’s _his,_ all _his._ They fall asleep at some point, Niall curled up next to him, soft breaths and satisfied sighs.

 

Harry wakes up on the floor of the Room of Requirement, and the only thing he sees is a small piece of parchment with a scribbled note.

 

_I went to class, and I tried to wake you up but you said you were gonna punch me.  
See you later; thanks for last night. -Niall xx_

 

Harry rolls his eyes at that, because Niall is seriously such a _Hufflepuff._ He stretches and then pulls his Invisibility Cloak over his frame before exiting the room.

 

He skips all of his classes the next day to sleep. He’ll just get all the answers and notes from Louis anyways.

___________________________________________

It’s not that Harry had expected Niall to be _shy_ , exactly. He’d just expected him to be a little more… hesitant? Or, well, okay—shy.

 

Harry’d expected a more slow-moving relationship than he was used to. He’d expected tentative hand holding and reserved kisses in the safety of shadowed corridor corners.

 

(If nothing else, at least he’d been right about the ‘shadowed corridor corners’ bit. There’s nothing reserved about the way Niall sucks Harry’s tongue and moans into his mouth.)

 

To Harry’s (not at all displeased) surprise, Niall moves faster than many of the _Slytherins_ , even.

 

It’s Monday, the week after Niall cornered Harry in that empty corridor (or the-time-Harry-most-certainly-did-not-admit-that-he-likes-Niall, as Harry’s taken to calling it in his head) and Harry’s tuning out the complaints and griping from Louis and Zayn because—the Slytherins have Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs.

 

The trio walk into the drafty classroom and Harry casts furtive glances around, his eyes landing on a familiar blonde head. Niall turns like he can feel Harry’s heavy gaze, and blue eyes meet green across the room. Niall offers a tiny, proud smirk and Harry rolls his eyes but returns the smug smile as he follows his friends to a table.

 

It’s only about fifteen minutes into class when a tiny piece of parchment lands on the desk in front of Harry. He sits up from where he’d been slouching low in his chair and looks around, eyes falling immediately on Niall, who raises his eyebrows and gestures to the paper. Harry snatches the bewitched note up and, with a quick glance at Louis (who, thankfully, is dozing with his chin in his hand), drops his hands to his lap and reads the scrawled word below his table.

 

_Bathroom._

 

He’s about to cast questioning eyes on Niall, wondering what the hell the nutter is on about, when Niall’s voice rings out.

 

“Professor, may I go to the restroom?”

 

McGonagall turns toward Niall, nodding in his direction in acquiescence before resuming her lecture. Niall stands and makes his way toward the door, throwing a sultry look to Harry before ducking out of the classroom. Harry stares at the closed door for a minute before he turns back to face the front of the classroom. Niall’s note weighs heavy in his hand and it only takes him a moment to decide that yes, he’d quite like to use the bathroom as well.

 

“Professor,” he blurts, and McGonagall turns her icy eyes on him, annoyed at being interrupted again.

 

“What, Mr. Styles?” She says, her tone clipped and cold. Harry squares his shoulders, knowing the old Professor always hates the Slytherins.

 

“I need to use the toilets,” Harry announces, and McGonagall purses her lips at his crass attitude.

 

“After my lecture,” she says, turning back to her blackboard. Harry glares at her back before glancing at the door again, thinking of what Niall might possibly (hopefully) have planned for him.

 

“Professor,” he stresses, voice low because okay, the Slytherins hate McGonagall right back. “Unless you can teach me to transfigure my chair into a toilet in the next few seconds, we’re gonna have a real problem.”

 

McGonagall’s eyes freeze over even more, if it’s possible, and Harry thinks that if her mouth flattens into any more of a thin line, her lips will disappear altogether. “Charming, Mr. Styles. Just go.”

 

Harry’s out of his seat and to the door before she can turn back to her board, and he pushes out of the classroom, cursing the old bat under his breath. He takes long, eager strides down the corridor and makes his way to the boys’ bathroom down the hall. He’s just barely through the door when hands slam to his chest and pull him tight to another body. Familiar chapped lips are on his before Harry can catch his breath, and Niall’s frantic fingers are already slipping into his robes.

 

“Took you long enough,” Niall mutters against Harry’s lips before he looks down to try to get Harry’s robes undone. Harry looks down too, content to watch.

 

“Easy for you to say,” he pants, stomach muscles twitching as Niall’s cold fingers snake under his shirt. “McGonagall hates me.”

 

“Awh,” Niall coos teasingly, tilting his head up to nip and suck at Harry’s exposed collarbone. Harry drops his head back against the wall and lets himself _feel_ , the wet, tickling slide of Niall’s tongue, the throbbing of Niall’s hard dick against his thigh, _NiallNiallNiall._

 

His head spins when Niall gets his hands on Harry’s trousers, and he gets them undone and down around his thighs with quick, clever fingers, and then Harry gasps because—shit, he’s really not expecting it when Niall drops to his knees right there on the bathroom floor. His heart is racing because _anyone_ could walk in right now, but Niall’s tonguing the skin above the waistband of his pants and Harry’s _definitely_ not about to say no, not with the way Niall’s looking up at him right now.

 

Niall yanks his boxer briefs down unceremoniously and Harry wonders if Niall realizes he’s licking his lips like that. Niall wraps calloused fingers around the base of Harry’s dick and strokes smoothly, ears perking to the sound of Harry’s soft gasp. Harry can’t decide if he wants to let his head lull back against the wall and bask in the feel of Niall’s hands around him, or if he wants to look down at him, watch and memorize every move Niall makes.

 

Well, he drops his head down to look just as Niall sucks the head of Harry’s dick into his mouth, a pornographic sight that has Harry’s knees weak (not that he’ll ever admit it).

 

It’s pretty embarrassingly quick after that. What Niall lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm, his blonde head bobbing, pink lips wrapped tight and wet and obscene around Harry. Niall drops a hand to press his palm against his own dick, hard and straining in his robes. Spit dribbles down his chin but he moans through it like he likes the mess, brings his hand up to collect some of the wetness and rubs it between his fingers. Then, with his tongue flicking teasingly against the head of Harry’s dick, Niall trails his wet fingers back behind Harry’s balls, pressing first at his perineum and then back even more to push much too lightly at the tight ring of muscle that has Harry’s toes curling.

 

Honestly, Harry _means_ to stutter out a warning but it comes out more of a strangled whimper, and then he’s coming, hard and hot down Niall’s throat. Niall, bless him, doesn’t even flinch, just flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s half-lidded gaze and works his throat around Harry as he swallows.

 

Harry recoils as Niall continues to stroke him with a tiny little smirk on his face, until Harry whines from overstimulation and pushes his hands away.

 

“Good?” Niall murmurs, standing up and leaning his chest against Harry’s. Harry tries to answer but finds himself distracted by how wet and shiny Niall’s lips look.

 

Finally he tears his eyes away from Niall’s mouth, glancing up to see the infuriatingly smug glint in those stupid blue eyes.

 

Harry clears his throat and attempts a sneer. “Was alright.” He hates that the bored, haughty tone he’d been going for comes out weak and slightly awed.

 

“Sod off,” Niall chuckles against his ear, “you loved it.”

 

“You sure know how to romance a boy, I’ll give you that,” Harry says but doesn’t deny it. He returns Niall’s light chuckle, panting against the other boy’s sweaty hair until Niall ruts his still hard cock against Harry’s hip.

 

He gently pushes Niall back enough to get a hand between them, deftly dipping between Niall’s robes and into his trousers just as Niall gasps against him, “You n-never wanted romance, anyway.”

 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Harry agrees just as he gets Niall’s dick out of his pants and strokes roughly.

 

It’s quiet now save for the soft pants and the needy little grunts Niall grinds out into his ear, his hands against the wall on either side of Harry’s shoulders, his hips jerking into Harry’s fist. It’s a little too dry and it’s cramped and there’s barely enough room for Harry to move his hand over Niall’s length, so he holds his fist still and lets Niall fuck into it until the Hufflepuff is sobbing a moan and spilling all over Harry’s hand.

 

Harry lets Niall lean against him for a little bit, letting him come down from the high for a few moments until Harry pushes him back and wipes his hand on his trousers. Niall grins and pulls up his pants, readjusting his robes and smoothing down his tousled hair.

 

“That was fun,” he says, voice light and lilting, and Harry hums his agreement.

 

“Definitely better than class, I’ll admit.”

 

Niall chuckles and looks at Harry fondly before making his way to the bathroom door. He stops and turns when Harry doesn’t follow him. “Aren’t you coming back to class?”

 

Harry laughs. “You’re joking right?”

 

Niall stares at him blankly.

 

“Horan, I just got a great blowjob—oh, _shut up_ , don’t look so smug, that’s my thing— and I’m tired, so there’s no way I’m going back to class now.”

 

Niall shrugs, offers another grin and a nod at Harry before he’s gone. Harry turns to the mirror and pats down his curls, sighing contently. He leaves the bathroom after a few minutes, heading back to his dormitory for a nap.

___________________________________________

He falls asleep sitting up against the headboard of his bed, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest, head nodded off to the side. He dreams of hot, sinful mouths and breathy moans that itch their way under his skin, and wide, white smiles that accompany eager, cold fingers.

 

His dream changes then, melts into dark, swirling gray shapes and he’s looking down his wand at a huddled blonde boy, all smooth angles and porcelain skin stark against bricks where he’s naked and shaking on the ground. He realizes the small figure is Niall at the same time he hears his own voice mutter something indistinguishable, and Niall shakes harder, visibly— _he might break_ —and looks up at him with eyes so wide and blue that Harry worries he might drown. Niall’s lips part just enough for an echoing whimper to slide through them, and—

 

Harry jerks awake.

 

“Mate, y’alright?”

 

His chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, Harry looks over to see Louis sitting cross-legged on his own bed, bent over a Potions book. Louis’ brow is furrowed and he’s looking at Harry with slightly alarmed eyes; Harry looks over and sees Zayn on his own bed with a similar confused expression.

 

Harry swallows, forces himself to breathe slowly. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Bad dream.”

 

Zayn nods and looks down at his own book, but Louis quirks a little smirk. “Well I’ll tell you what, we were glad to see you weren’t bloodied when we came in.”

 

Harry frowns, trying to get control over his racing heartbeat. “What?”

 

“It’s just, that Hufflepuff kid? Horan? He came back to Transfiguration all roughed up, didn’t he?” Louis explains, and Harry’s blood freezes.

 

He feels his face drain of color, and he looks back and forth between his friends. “I—so?”

 

“We just figured you might’ve—” Zayn pauses, searching for the right word, “—scuffled, or something. In the toilets.”

 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, eyes shining with mirth. “We were hoping you’d shown the wanker a thing or two about where the Hufflepuffs stand in rankings,” he sneers, offering a grin to Harry like he’s expecting Harry to confirm their suspicions.

 

Harry rubs at his eyes, the scenes from his dream coming back to him though his heartbeat is slowing down to normal. He manages a tiny smile. “I wish,” he lies smoothly, “but I didn’t even see him. Didn’t bother going to the bathroom at all, did I? Just came back here for a nap.”

 

Louis and Zayn grin at him, accepting his words, and Harry sighs. He keeps picturing Niall in his dream, small and shaking, looking up at Harry with those helpless eyes, and Harry shudders. He’s pained to admit it—even to himself—but it had _scared_ him to see Niall like that.

 

He finds his fingers itching for a quill, maybe to send a letter to Niall, satisfy that building need to make sure Niall’s okay, but what would he even say? ‘I don’t ever want to see you like that’? Or maybe, ‘I want to protect you’?

 

No. The idea is laughable, even in his head.

 

He sighs and, ignoring the strange looks from Louis and Zayn, he rolls over and falls back asleep.

___________________________________________

A few days later, Paul delivers a note from Niall ordering Harry to meet him in the Astronomy Tower. Harry’s a bit confused but he responds eagerly, scribbling out a quick message to tell Niall he’ll be right there. If Niall wants to be a little bit of a exhibitionist, Harry’s all for that, as long as nobody really catches them.

 

To his surprise, when he arrives at the top of the staircase to the Astronomy Tower, he catches Niall sitting with a basket—and a… _blanket?_ —spread on the floor.

 

“The fuck is this?” Harry asks, forehead furrowing with lines of confusion, because to be quite honest, he wasn’t really expecting this.

 

“It’s our first proper date,” Niall says, beaming happily.

 

Harry balks. “I don’t _do_ dates.” And he doesn’t. Sex is easy enough to come by when you’re a Slytherin—it’s easy to do everything detached, the whole no-strings-attached thing, friends with benefits, fuck buddies.

 

Niall’s face falls, but he grits his jaw in determination. “You want to keep doing what we’re doing?”

 

Harry shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance, but he really _does_ want to keep doing what they’re doing. His mind flickers back to Niall on the ground before him, lips stretched and eyes bright as he just _takes_ Harry’s cock, and yeah, Niall’s right impossible and demanding at times, but he’d managed to make Harry come harder than ever before, and then swallowed like a professional. Harry’d have to be a damned fool to give that up.

 

“Well, I think you _do,_ ” Niall says slyly when Harry fails to respond right away. He grabs Harry by the hand and sits him down on the blanket—which Harry’s horrified to see is a black and yellow checkered _Hufflepuff_ blanket—before he flips open the basket to reveal several squashed pumpkin pasties and a (truly gigantic) flask.

 

“What’s this?” Harry asks, reaching for the metal flask, and smelling the liquid to realize it’s firewhiskey before Niall even answers.

 

“Thought we’d get a little pissed,” Niall grins, taking the flask from Harry’s hand. He takes a few gulps, shaking his face as the alcohol slides down his throat, and hands it to Harry. “Watch it, okay. ‘S a bit strong.”

 

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a bloody _Hufflepuff_ ,” Harry sneers, before taking a sip, and he’s loathe to admit that his throat burns as well as he’s drinking. “The fuck is this, Niall? Poison?”

 

Niall chortles with glee, his laugh one that Harry does _not_ find endearing or adorable in the slightest, thanks very much. “’S good shit, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry admits, “now give me one of those damn pasties.”

 

“Most demanding date ever,” Niall says, rolling his eyes, but he complies. “Rudest date ever too. Good thing you’re good-looking because in the personality area, you’re quite lacking, Styles.”

 

“Oh shut up, Horan,” Harry retorts, amazed at how he’s kind of actually… _enjoying_ the banter. “You’re lucky I even know your name.”

 

Niall guffaws at that, much to Harry’s chagrin (and surprise), because he wasn’t really joking. He figures Niall might already be a little drunker than he’s letting on.

 

“So tell me about yourself,” Niall says amiably, failing to take the bait.

 

“What is there to tell?” Harry replies suspiciously, sincerely hoping the pumpkin pasty he’s currently eating isn’t laced with Veritaserum because he’s done a lot of shit at Hogwarts he’d quite prefer to keep to himself, and he’s pretty sure Niall was sorted into the wrong house for as crafty and manipulative as the blonde bastard is.

 

Niall hums absently, reaching over to take a bite of Harry’s pasty even though there’s a perfectly good one in the basket. “Like, y’know. Your family and stuff?”

 

“I have a sister.” Harry’s voice is flat and disengaging, and he shrugs half-heartedly.

 

“And…?” Niall prods, wrinkling his nose and poking Harry in the side.

 

“And what?” Harry counters.

 

Niall rolls his eyes and sighs, muttering something that sounds like, _really, you’re an idiot_ , under his breath. “You know, you could start with her name. And if you like her. Or like… what your parents do, and like… y’know.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes in exasperation before telling Niall about Gemma and his parents who both work in the Ministry of Magic. Niall tells him about his older brother Greg and Ireland and his favourite Quidditch team, and Harry’s surprised that he’s actually _interested._ He actually listens to what Niall’s saying, and they keep handing the flask back and forth, and before he knows it, they’re both drunk and laughing nonsensically, and then Niall leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

 

Niall’s lips are wet and he smells like booze and pumpkin and boy, and Harry realizes that this whole thing is about as romantic as a date with a Giant Squid, but it’s fun and _right_ nonetheless, both of them on the top floor of the Astronomy Tower overlooking the gigantic, beautiful lake as the sun sets.

 

“C’mere,” he says, forgetting his stony Slytherin exterior for a second, and then his lips are on Niall’s and his vision is full of bright blue eyes and white-blonde hair, and really, everything around them ceases to exist.

___________________________________________

Fooling around with Niall is great. There’s no denying that—the boy knows how to use his mouth and hands and looks downright sinful, emerging from heated snogs like some sort of debauched angel.

 

But the thing is—it’s more than that. It’s more than secretive handjobs and blowjobs in the Room of Requirement, _more_ than the taste of Niall’s tongue sliding against his own, more than Niall’s taut, lithe body slotting against his, more than the sex—well near sex, they haven’t actually done _it_ yet.

 

It’s the fact that Harry’s stomach flips when Niall giggles, a full and throaty sound that spills easily off his lips. It’s that some of his favourite moments are sitting up in the Owlery with Niall as they split a pack of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans, and the way Niall crinkles his nose when he gets the dustbunny flavour. It’s that Harry actually _likes_ slipping out of his bed in the middle of the night, huddled in his Invisibility Cloak (Merlin, he swears it’s was worth nicking from Gemma), to sneak over to the Hufflepuff Common Room. It’s that he _likes_ being curled up with Niall in the Restricted Section of the library, exchanging wet kisses and squeezing the blonde’s hand when they’re invisible to the rest of the world. It’s that Niall’s as sweet and warm as butterbeer sometimes and then as feisty as a newborn Norwegian Ridgeback the next, and whatever it is, Harry’s addicted.

 

If he wasn’t so sure that Hufflepuffs are idiots and can’t cast the right spells to save their lives, Harry might think that Niall had slipped him a potion or put him under some sort of lovespell. Being with Niall is an undeniable rush, the small blonde’s intoxicating in a way that’s completely new, and Harry? Well, he can’t get enough.

___________________________________________

The first time they have sex is not at all like Harry would have imagined.

 

He’s got Niall warm and solid below him on a bed in the Room of Requirement, lips, tongues, and hands moving against one another heatedly. The lights are dimmed and the bed is soft and covered in pillows, and Harry’s just thinking in his head how this scene would be perfect if there were a fire—and a fireplace appears on the wall opposite the bed, a crackling fire throwing comfortable shadows onto the walls.

 

Both boys break apart to glance at it for a second, soft chuckles breathed against each other’s cheeks, and when Harry leans in to kiss Niall again it’s like the mood has changed from lazy and unhurried to needy, hard.

 

He sits up, knees on either sides of Niall’s hips, and drags his shirt easily over his head before dropping down to connect their lips again. It’s intense, like someone’s flipped a switch, and Harry splays his full hand over Niall’s lower stomach and knows— _this is it._

 

He nips at Niall’s lower lip and growls, “ _God,_ I wanna fuck you.”

 

Niall twitches and freezes, pushing at Harry’s chest just enough so he can whimper out, “Harry, wait—”

 

Harry chuckles. “What?” He asks lowly, kissing Niall again, his hand skimming down Niall’s sides.

 

“Wait,” Niall says again, louder now, and pushes harder at Harry’s shoulder until Harry pulls back, supporting himself over Niall.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know if—I mean… I just…uh—” Niall stutters, and that easy grin slides across Harry’s face again before he drops another kiss to Niall’s mouth.

 

“Aw, come on,” he chuckles lightly, resting more weight on Niall and licking at his lip. “’S not like you’re a virgin or anything.”

 

Niall freezes under him and Harry’s heart skips a beat, his stomach sinking. An _ah, fuck_ flashes through his mind when he opens his eyes to see Niall already staring up at him, eyes wide and nervous, cheeks flushed.

 

It’s quiet for a moment, the spitting of the fire filling the heavy silence between them.

 

“You’re a virgin.” It isn’t a question.

 

If Niall’s cheeks were pink before, it’s nothing compared to the deep blush that paints his face now. “I—uh. Yeah.”

 

Harry lifts himself off of the Hufflepuff to fall onto the bed next to him, and Niall pulls himself up into a sitting position.

 

“’M sorry, I didn’t know,” Harry explains, and Niall shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something, but Harry rushes out, “We don’t have to—”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Niall interrupts, looking over at Harry in that full-on, unashamed way of his. “I want to.”

 

Harry sits up and meets his eyes. “You’re sure?”

 

Niall smiles faintly and looks down at his hands where they’re wringing in his lap. “Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

 

“Hey,” Harry says, taking one of Niall hands in his own and twining their fingers in an uncharacteristically sweet gesture. Niall looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. “I’ll be gentle, okay?”

 

Niall’s smile tugs his lips wider and Harry swallows the lump in his throat. He hadn’t expected this, not with the way Niall first fell to his knees on that bathroom floor. Harry had figured Niall was well-versed in sex, and he was relieved because of it. He hadn’t been looking to be anyone’s first, and he doesn’t want the puppy-dog emotions that follow a first time, doesn’t want Niall to look at him like he hung the stars and follow him around and _adore_ him.

 

But.

 

On the other hand, he wants to make Niall feel _good_. He wants those big, shiny blue eyes wide one moment and scrunched in pleasure the next, wants to hear Niall keen and feel him shudder. He wants to protect Niall, for some stupid reason he can’t explain. He just. He wants Niall to be happy, and he wants to _make_ Niall happy.

 

He returns Niall’s smile and repeats, “I’ll be gentle.”

 

Niall nods and leans in to peck at Harry’s lips once before leaning back until Harry follows and pulls him in again, lets Niall suck his lower lip into his mouth and trace the tips of his teeth over the swollen skin, not quite biting so much as _feeling_. Harry likes it, moans into it a little. Feels good.

 

Harry’s slow in rolling over slightly, lowering Niall’s back to the bed until he’s nestled into the pillows. He climbs on top of the Hufflepuff and draws his mouth away from the tempting taste of Niall’s lips to press hot, open kisses across his jaw, down his neck, into the dip of his collarbone, slow and careful like he’s determined to feel every inch of Niall’s skin under his tongue. Niall writhes a little, arching up into Harry’s hands, the _moremoremore_ hanging unspoken between them.

 

Harry trails lower down Niall’s chest, over his stomach to nip at his bellybutton, and one of Niall’s hands falls to grip at his shoulder, the other sliding into his hair but not tugging.

 

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless, and Harry licks at the trail of fair hair on Niall’s lower stomach before looking up. “I thought…thought we were gunna—”

 

“Oh, we will,” Harry interrupts nonchalantly, letting a smirk curl his lips before he continues, “but I think you’ll enjoy it even more if you’re relaxed.” He tilts his head, green eyes shining mischievously, chin jutting forward just a little as he murmurs, “I’m gunna make you feel so good you’ll be _begging_ me to fuck you,” low and predatory and perfect like he’s delicately wrapping his tongue around each word, enunciating like that alone will get Niall off.

 

And, well, okay. It just might.

 

(It thrills Niall and scares him at the same time to realize that Harry Styles knows _exactly_ what he’s doing).

 

Niall takes a steadying breath and quirks a brow. “Is that you bragging and being smug, or you taking care of me?”

 

Harry smiles, genuine and sweet this time, and nips at a soft, fleshy inner thigh. “Both,” he says seriously, then, with amusement in his voice, “definitely _both_.”

 

Niall doesn’t bother answering, doesn’t even think he _can_ with the way Harry swallows his dick. Harry feels those calloused fingers tightening in his hair and hums around the head, letting his tongue swirl lazily over Niall. He doesn’t spend much time on Niall’s dick, just leaving a few hard sucks and twists of his hand around the base before he pulls off. Niall whines his discontent, and Harry smiles and nudges him to turn over.

 

“Wha—” Niall begins, face flushed and a little betrayed, and Harry knows what he’s thinking and there’s a sudden pang in his chest that makes him want to say _no it’s okay it’s not like that_ but he doesn’t, just says, “trust me,” and Niall turns over.

 

“Hands and knees,” Harry instructs, his hand on the back of Niall’s thigh right at the juncture of leg and ass, thumb soothing over the skin as Niall pushes himself up.

 

“Harry—” Niall starts again, voice wary and a little shaky, but Harry shushes him softly, smooths circles into his skin.

 

“Trust me,” Harry repeats, and it surprises him a little when Niall relaxes under his touch and murmurs a soft, “yeah, okay. I trust you.”

 

It’s when Harry presses a kiss to the small of Niall’s back that Niall freezes, head turning to look over his shoulder at Harry because okay _now_ he gets it.

 

“Harry—!” He cuts himself off with a choked gasp when Harry spreads him open with a hand on each cheek, leaning in to trace his tongue around the edge of Niall’s hole. He doesn’t waste time, doesn’t give Niall long to get used to the feeling before he’s pressing his tongue against the puckered skin, pushing carefully until the muscle gives and his tongue is sliding inside.

 

“Fuck,” Niall sobs, dropping down onto his forearms to moan brokenly and whimper into the pillows as Harry thrusts his tongue in over and over, swirling the tip inside Niall before pulling back. He sucks three fingers into his mouth, getting them good and wet, and he carefully pushes one into Niall. The smaller body tenses, Niall’s shoulders pulling taut and his back dipping a little bit.

 

“You okay?” Harry asks before dipping his head to lick around his finger, now knuckle-deep. He looks up to see Niall’s hands fisting into the sheets and he can’t help but hum.

 

“Yeah—yes, more Harry, _please_ ,” Niall rambles, moaning a little when Harry pulls his finger back only to push another in beside it. He curls his fingers into Niall’s prostate, shaking a little because Niall’s so _hot_ inside, smooth and slightly wet like a girl, and it makes Harry reach his free hand under Niall to jerk him a few times.

 

Niall, for his part, drops his jaw to groan, turning his head so his cheek rests against the pillow, eyes wide and blinking owlishly and just _feeling_ , and Harry’s got a hand around his dick but he can’t come yet because Harry hasn’t even gotten _in_ him, and he can’t—he won’t hold on much longer if Harry swipes his thumb over the head of his dick or pushes his tongue in beside his fingers one more time, and he wants to scream but his voice is caught in his throat so he settles for fisting at the pillow and forcing out a strangled, “Harry,” as his only warning.

 

“It’s okay, Niall,” Harry says evenly, voice husky and dropped an octave, and he twists his fingers in Niall’s ass and tugs on his dick. Niall whimpers, balls tightening and muscles spasming. “I want you to come.”

 

Really, that’s all it takes before Niall is seizing up, clenching around Harry’s fingers and coming with a wet _slap_ against the bed sheets. Harry strokes him through it, pulling his fingers out and leaning to press a quick kiss to Niall’s pink little hole and then up to kiss the small of his back.

 

Niall hums weakly and shuffles over to a clean spot on the bed before dropping onto his stomach. Harry tries not to smile too fondly at him, instead reaching over to grab his wand from the nightstand and mutter a cleaning charm at the come on the sheets. His own dick is impossibly hard in his briefs but he lies down next to Niall anyway, drawing absent shapes into his sweaty shoulder until Niall turns his head and casts wide, insanely blue eyes on Harry.

 

“Fuck, Harry,” he says simply, voice lilting and syrupy. Harry grins.

 

“When you’re hard again,” he teases.

 

Niall rolls his eyes but smiles anyway, licking his lips. “No, now.”

 

Harry stares.

 

“You won’t get me any more relaxed than I am right now. C’mon,” Niall says, pushing himself up, ass high in offering. Harry bites his lip against a smirk because _there’s_ that wanton eagerness he knows.

 

Harry gets up onto his knees, pulling his briefs down and over his feet to toss them across the room. He settles further down the bed and just takes in the sight of Niall, pale skin flushed and rosy, damp with sweat and Harry’s spit. The long line of his back dips obscenely, beckoning Harry in with how his back gives way to the curve of his ass, spread just enough that Harry can see the harsh pinkness of his hole.

 

Harry scoots forward on his knees and, with a hand on Niall’s hip, coaxes him to turn over; he’s not going to make Niall look at the pillows while losing his virginity. That just seems a little _too_ distant and cold, two things he doesn’t ever want to associate with Niall.

 

The corner of his lip quirks up in response to the flush spreading across Niall’s cheekbones and neck, and he ducks his head to catch the other boy’s lips in a quick, reassuring kiss before carefully pushing Niall’s knees apart and settling between them.

 

“You’re sure?” Harry asks again, fingering his wand, voice low and soothing.

 

Niall nods a bit frantically, breathing out, “Yeah.”

 

“It’ll hurt, you know.”

 

Niall swallows audibly and Harry thumbs circles into the skin of his thigh. He closes his hand around Niall’s dick, stroking him to semi-hardness, and Niall lets out a broken little sigh. He attempts a smile.

 

“I want to, Harry. I want you.”

 

Harry smiles and kisses him again. He picks up his wand and points it at his own length; he casts a first quick lubricating charm on himself, and then, pressing the tip of his wand to Niall’s hole (and grinning at the whimper Niall releases at the feeling), casts a second. Niall shivers a little underneath him, smiles crookedly and breathes, “S’tingly.”

 

Harry chuckles and braces his hands on Niall’s thin hips, lining himself up. “Relax,” he says, and pushes until Niall’s muscles give way and the head slides in.

 

“Fuck,” Niall hisses, eyes clenched closed and fingers gripping bruises into Harry’s forearms because Harry’s dick is _not_ his fingers and _oh fuck,_ it hurts. “Shit, fucking—fuck.”

 

Harry remains still despite the delicious clenching and relaxing of Niall’s muscles around him, leaning down to slide their chests together as he gives Niall a minute to get used to the feeling.

 

It’s not long before the blonde’s breathing evens out a little and his muscles relax somewhat around Harry.

 

“All right?” Harry asks.

 

More frantic nodding. “Yeah. Move,” Niall grinds out.

 

Harry slides forward another few inches and the clenching is back, Niall hissing through gritted teeth.

 

“Shit, Niall,” Harry pants, breathing heavily because the tightness around his dick is verging on painful, at this point. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over, kissing at the tears that are sneaking from Niall’s clamped eyes.

 

He hates to see Niall hurting like this; this is not protecting him, like Harry’d wanted. He moves to pull out but Niall’s legs wrap around his hips, vice-like, and he flexes, forcing Harry further inside him. He groans sharply but keeps his legs tight around Harry’s waist.

 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ move,” he rasps, eyes still shut. “Just—just gimme a second.”

 

He breathes harshly, chest heaving, while Harry struggles to keep his own eyes open and watch every tiny twitch of Niall’s eyebrows, the twist of his lips when they pull back from his teeth.

 

Harry’s never felt anything like this, the intensity of Niall’s muscles tight and spectacularly suffocating around his length. None of the Slytherins he’s ever fucked have ever been this tight—male or female. Not Grimmy or Lloyd, definitelynot Louis… not even Zayn, and Zayn doesn’t sleep around _nearly_ as much as Louis does.

 

Niall just—fuck, Harry doesn’t know if it’s because Niall’s a virgin that this feels so good, or if it’s just because it’s _Niall._

 

Either way, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

 

Niall’s slowly starting to relax around him and Harry lets out a soft gasp, pressing his lips to Niall’s in what might’ve been a kiss if either of them could be bothered to focus enough. Harry leans back, propping himself up his hands and Niall’s hands curl around his forearms. Harry stares down at him until Niall blinks his eyes open, striking Harry yet again because of just how blue they are. He lets a tiny little smile quirk his lips and Harry grins at him.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Niall squirms a little, breathing a gasp when Harry shifts inside him. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—yeah,” he stutters like he doesn’t know exactly how to describe this.

 

It burns. _Merlin_ , it burns. It’s like he’s being ripped right down the middle and then someone’s pouring battery acid in the wounds, and it stings like a motherfucker, but there’s the softness of Harry’s lips as he peppers kisses on Niall’s face, down his jaw, nestling kisses into the slope of his neck where it meets his shoulder. Harry presses his lips to Niall’s sweaty skin, soft and careful like he’s trying to siphon the pain from Niall’s body and replace it with something gentle—loving?—and maybe Niall’s imagining it, but it just might be working.

 

It hits Niall that he can no longer stand to not have Harry moving inside him.

 

“Move, Harry. Please.”

 

And Harry does. He pulls back slowly only to rock forward again, and Niall’s eyes fly shut again. The pain shoots up his spine but he breathes, slow and deep, nodding because he knows Harry’s watching his reaction.

 

A few more thrusts and the burn is easing just a little, Harry sliding in easier due to the warming lubrication spell, when Harry pushes forward and something decidedly not painful rockets through Niall.

 

“Oh fuck,” he sobs, tossing his head back against the pillows.

 

“There?” Harry grunts, a smile spreading his lips as he picks up the speed, rocking into Niall at the exact angle to hit his prostate with almost every thrust.

 

Niall whimpers. The pain is still there but it’s slight now, significantly more bearable with the overpowering pleasure of Harry hitting his prostate like that. Niall slides his hands up Harry’s arms, nails digging paths up his back until Niall can wrap his arms around Harry’s neck and haul him down for a messy kiss. They breathe against each other’s mouths, tongues sliding obscenely as Niall rocks with the crescendoing speed of Harry’s thrusts.

 

Harry moans into Niall’s mouth, swallowing Niall’s own growing noises, and he mouths his way down Niall’s jaw to rest his forehead in the hollow of his collarbone, reveling in the tiny sting of Niall’s fingernails on his back. He decides he likes that Niall’s going to be one to leave marks, and he forces himself to unclench a hand from Niall’s hip, drag it over his stomach to wrap around Niall’s length, jerking him roughly to the timing of his own pistoning hips.

 

“Come on, Ni, want you to come for me again,” Harry pants into his neck, lapping at the salty skin and feeling Niall’s sobbing moans under his tongue.

 

Harry spares a thankful thought that the Room of Requirement is soundproof, because fuck if Niall’s a screamer; Harry _adores_ it.

 

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall whines, loud and unchecked, tossing his head from side to side and jutting his hips back against Harry, up into his fist.

 

“So close,” Harry growls, and he swipes his thumb over the head of Niall’s dick and Niall’s done for. He comes in quick, hot spurts over Harry’s hand and stomach, wringing Harry’s own orgasm out of him with the clenching around Harry’s dick.

 

“Shit,” Harry chokes, hips stuttering through it, riding out the pleasure until he stops, lowering himself onto Niall so their chests heave together.

 

“Yeah,” Niall gasps, and then after a few minutes, “Well fuck.”

 

“What?” Harry asks weakly, picking himself up to look down at Niall.

 

“That was…” Niall trails off, searching his head for a word that combines _incredibly painful_ with _overwhelmingly amazing._

 

“Bloody brilliant? Mindblowing? The best experience of your life?” Harry teases quietly, and Niall snorts. Harry grins lazily, pressing soft, careful kisses to Niall’s lips. “I told you I was amazing in bed.” The smugness in his voice is overpowered by the relaxed adoration.

 

Niall smiles, reveling in the calm, comfortable atmosphere of the room. “When did you tell me that?”

 

“First day we met,” Harry says, dropping more kisses to Niall’s mouth like he can’t get enough. “Remember? Care of Magical Creatures?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Niall agrees, “Right. Well yes, you were right, you cheeky bastard.”

 

Harry smiles, blinks slowly, and relaxes into Niall so the blonde knows he was only teasing. He hauls himself up onto his hands again and gently pulls out. Niall winces.

 

“Shit, Ni—you’re bleeding,” Harry says, voice adopting a note of panic.

 

Niall sits up on his elbows. “Am I? Only a little though, right? Hey—Harry, calm down, I’m okay.”

 

Harry forces his breathing to slow, an edge creeping into his veins because _he’d made Niall bleed, for Christ’s sake._ “Aren’t you—” He swallows, tries to regain some of his Slytherin indifference. “I thought it would hurt more.”

 

“Oh, it hurts like a bitch,” Niall concedes, but he pulls Harry in by the neck anyway, kissing him slow and deep. “But I’m okay. Honestly. We’ll just have to keep trying until it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he says with a sly grin.

 

“Niall—”

 

“Shut up, Harry. I’m trying to bask in the happy afterglow, here, okay?” Niall says lightly, pulling Harry down next to him. He mutters quick cleaning charms on himself and the Slytherin, then, wincing slightly at the pain shooting up his back, curls into Harry’s chest. Harry pulls the blankets up around them and wraps a protective arm around Niall’s shoulder, drawing absent shapes into his skin, and they breathe, relax, close their eyes and bask.

 

They don’t speak for almost half an hour, Niall having pressed himself as close as possible and Harry tucking him in even closer. Harry watches the fire, lets the warmth given off by it blanket him, and cuddles in to Niall to tangle their legs together. He breathes in deeply, finding himself more content than he’s been in a long time, and presses a kiss to the top of Niall’s hair.

 

It’s another few minutes before Harry notices that Niall’s tense, still. He’s quiet and small, unexpectedly so, and Harry can’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable by it, even though there’s nothing wrong with the way the Hufflepuff fits against his chest. Harry lets his fingers taper across Niall’s bare shoulder, grazing the taut lines of his collarbone in spite of himself—he’s not one for _sentimentality_ usually, but even he can tell that there’s something heavy on Niall’s mind. Harry’s not about to ask though; he waits patiently for Niall to bring it up on his own.

 

“Can… can I ask you something?” Niall finally manages, his voice shyer, more vulnerable than Harry’s used to.

 

Harry’s about to sigh because thinks he knows where this is going, and he should’ve expected the whole _this meant a lot to me_ and _thank you for taking my virginity_ and _let’s discuss our feelings_ talk—because yeah, he’s been really gentle and he _cares_ about Niall. He catches Niall’s bright blue eyes, wide and vulnerable and—is he _scared?_ —and Harry curbs any instinctively snide words that are about to escape.

 

“Yeah… sure?” He says uncertainly, forcing himself to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “What is it?”

 

Niall flushes then, pink dusting his cheeks, casting his eyelashes downwards, and murmurs. He’s barely audible, and Harry strains to hear his words. “This… what is this? What are we?”

 

Harry’s instinct is to say something sarcastic, to tell Niall that this is just for fun, it’s nothing _serious_ really, but there’s something almost _desperate_ in Niall’s eyes, and he can’t. “What do you mean?” he says instead, leaning in to brush a kiss against Niall’s lips because he’s not _that_ heartless.

 

He’s surprised when the blonde pulls back, and continues in that same tiny, unfamiliar voice. “This… this isn’t just sex is it?”

 

“I… I, uh,” Harry starts, and he hates the way Niall flinches like he’s been slapped, because Harry’s not good at relationships—never has been and doesn’t think he ever will be. _Slytherin_ saren’t typically good at relationships, and even though Harry’s about done everything there is to do, being someone’s _boyfriend_ isn’t exactly his forte.

 

Niall takes a deep sigh and buries his face into his arms. “Can I tell you something?”

 

Harry doesn’t quite like the way the conversation is headed, isn’t sure how to react to the raw vulnerability in Niall’s voice, but Niall’s pulled to the opposite end of the bed and has basically barricaded himself away from the curly-haired boy behind Harry’s pillow, so he doesn’t really have a choice. He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah, yeah sure. Go for it.”

 

Niall looks up, a bit taken aback at the lack of malice or sarcasm in Harry’s reply, and Harry feels a twinge of (oh god, is that—) guilt at that, but before he can think too much of it, Niall’s letting words slip out of him like he’s afraid he’ll forget them if he doesn’t get them all out now.

 

“I… you’re… you’re the first guy I’ve ever done stuff more than… well you know, kissing,” Niall admits, a bit bashfully, eyebrows cinching in the middle of his forehead. Harry quirks an eyebrow at that, because he has to admit, he’s a mixture of surprised and impressed—Niall’s enthusiasm definitely made him figure otherwise. Niall flips him the bird, and then continues, “I… there was this bloke at Durmstrang—Vladimir Krum-”

 

“Vladimir Krum?” Harry nearly explodes, because he can hardly believe his ears. “You mean like Vladimir Krum—Viktor Krum’s son?”

 

“Yeah,” Niall answers, a bit drily. “The one and only.”

 

“You… you and _him_?” Harry splutters in disbelief, because this would be the day—to hear that Vladimir Krum, the son of the famous seeker Viktor Krum, _the_ Vladimir Krum who was being scouted at the age of eleven for a position on the Chudley Cannons is _gay_.

 

“Yeah.” Niall looks a bit uncomfortable now, and pulls Harry’s pillow into his lap, nestling his face into it. His voice is muffled from where he speaks into the pillow, “He’s the guy I got caught snogging at Durmstrang.”

 

“Oh,” Harry falters, a bit unsure of what to say, because he knows _something_ happened at Durmstrang that made it bad enough for Niall to transfer to Hogwarts—he just doesn’t know _what_ and he’s not quite sure that he wants to know. He pauses, and it’s silent, so he prods,“What happened with him? Go on then.”

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Niall says, now a bit abrasive, voice worn and exhausted as though he’s sixty rather than sixteen. “Nothing happened… to him, that is. Vlad… I mean I liked Vlad a lot. We met on the Quidditch team—he was two years older than me, a right fit bloke. Eyes kind of like yours,” he admits quietly, glancing down at his hands, continuing his story in that tinny, weary voice that makes Harry’s heart twinge with something he can’t quite identify. “He… he made me feel really special, and then…” his tone is suddenly bitter, and Harry leans forward to hear Niall’s words, “we got caught. Oleg Karakov saw us just kissing in the hallway before class—just a small kiss,” he says. “And he wanted to know what we were doing—he was a prefect, ruddy bastard—and then Vlad said… Vladimir said I _forced_ myself on him—said I jumped on him and kissed him without his consent. Can you believe that? Bloke’s a good half metre taller than me and he’s got a good few kilos on me, and he accused _me_ of trying to make him into a _poof_.”

 

“Niall, I,” Harry starts, voice wavering, but it’s like a dam’s been opened, and Niall can’t get the words out fast enough.

 

“Next thing I know, I was on the floor with… with fuckin’ Karakov using _Cruciatus_ on me.” Niall’s trying to keep his voice level, but instead it comes out in a whimper, and Harry can’t help the choked gasp from escaping.

 

“He used the Cruciatus Curse on you? A prefect?” Harry gapes, because this would be absurd at Hogwarts—any student who used an Unforgivable Curse against another student at Hogwarts would surely be expelled on the spot. He can feel the wrinkles of distress lining his forehead and his mind’s racing ahead of him, picturing the truly _awful_ image in mind—he’s only ever seen _Cruciatus_ used on a spider during a demonstration in Professor Patil’s class, but the bug was nearly screaming and it was awful—he even got squeamish, even though the Slytherin in him would never admit it.

 

“Yeah,” Niall responds, quickly swiping at his eyes with his bare arm. He sniffs and stubbornly keeps his eyes off of Harry’s face. “It… it hurt so fucking badly. Like… the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life. I’d been hexed and picked on the other years, but this… Felt like I was being set on fire or something, like knives were digging into my skin all over my body. I kept screaming because it hurt so fucking bad, and Karakov just… he just,” his voice shakes and there are tears spilling down hot cheeks now as he recounts his memory, even though he stubbornly scrubs the tears away, “he just _l-laughed._ Said a f-fag like me deserved it, said there was no room for g-gays at Durmstrang. And Vlad… he didn’t do anything to stop him. Just stood there watching like I was some _stranger_.”

 

Harry watches as the blonde trembles in front of him though he’s squared his shoulders defensively, trying to look resolute and firm, and his mind reels at the power of Niall’s confession. Shit, he was expecting some sort of dark past, but _this?_ It’s a wonder the blonde’s as open as he is with all the crap he’d dealt with.

 

Niall chuckles a bit softly, but there’s no mirth in his laugh. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m not like unstable or anything—I’m fine, I swear—but I can’t have… I can’t just be in this for the sex. It hurts too much—I just can’t go through what I did with Vlad again.” His voice is hoarse with misery, and Harry can see the tears welling up in his eyes. “Sorry, you must think I’m bloody pathetic, huh?” Niall adds a bit morosely, teeth digging into his lip so hard the skin breaks and it’s bleeding.

 

“Shh, no,” Harry says automatically, forcing himself to move. He ropes the blonde into his grasp, slinging an arm over Niall’s shoulders, whispering a quick healing charm to mend Niall’s split lip. “Course not. Shit, Niall. Nobody deserves that. ‘Specially you, hear me?”

 

Niall nods minutely and they sit like that for a few moments, Niall just barely shaking, still naked and wrapped in Harry’s arms.

 

“You know,” Harry begins softly, breaking the silence with a slow consideration, like he’s carefully choosing every word. “The Slytherin in me hates to say this, but it’s…this isn’t only about the sex for me either, okay?”

 

Niall pulls back from Harry’s arms just enough to look up at him with big, hopeful eyes, and Harry finds himself wanting to take away all of the hesitance he sees in Niall’s gaze.

 

“Now don’t get a big head about it or anything, but,” he drops his voice in an over-dramatic stage whisper, “I even kind of _like_ you.”

 

Niall gives a watery laugh and Harry’s heart swells a little. “Only kind of?”

 

It’s Harry’s turn to chuckle now, and he leans in close to breathe against Niall’s mouth. “Eh, you’re growing on me.”

 

Harry can feel Niall’s grin against his lips as the blonde relaxes fully into him, and he leans in that last centimeter to press their lips together.

___________________________________________

After they have sex for the first time, things get easier, softer. It doesn’t take many more nights together for Niall to realize that yes, sex is the best thing to ever happen to a teenage boy, and everything is good between the two of them.

 

Harry lets himself settle into whatever it is that they have, lets himself be happy and enjoy Niall. He thinks they have a good thing going.

 

He’s wrong.


End file.
